


algos

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Guys Win, Coping Mechanisms, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, M/M, Muddling Along After The Bad End, Post-Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-02 09:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15794064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: He liked to think it was more than luck, his survival, but he knew better now. The only thing that had ever gotten him through anything was luck.





	algos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AceQueenKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/gifts).



At least they had the _Falcon_ , that was what Han liked to remember in all of this. Whenever other thoughts intruded, worse thoughts, the sort of thoughts that got people killed, that reminder brought him back. He’d survived a lot thanks to that old freighter. And he would survive a whole lot more before his days were done.

He hoped anyway. The way things were going, a whole lot would happen in a short span of time and he’d end up eating those days way quicker than he’d have liked. That he even wanted to stretch them was probably more of a miracle than it should have been.

After the Rebellion’s shocking defeat at Endor, he’d survived a lot of bullshit. A monumental load of it. It was like the Empire had been born anew from the Rebellion’s ashes, nourished by it. Or at least they’d been reinvigorated by the victory. He liked to think it was more than luck, his survival, but he knew better now. The only thing that had ever gotten him through anything was luck.

That was the truly fucked up thing about it: Han Solo had believed in something bigger than himself and look where it had gotten the Rebellion, look where it had gotten the people he cared about.

He definitely should have known better. His life’s history was nothing but the bones of people unfortunate enough to have associated with him. Why would this have been any different?

“You’re getting maudlin,” Lando said, leaning in the doorway of the galley. He wasn’t wearing a cape and even after all this time it still struck Han as wrong. His shoulders were too slight without them, his frame solid, yet lithe. Without them, he wasn’t the larger-than-life Lando Calrissian that Han had fallen in love with. Then again, there was a lot to love about the Lando Calrissian who stuck with him despite everything. Even if Han hadn’t yet accustomed himself to this version.

Given their own history, that wasn’t a given. Maybe this was just Han’s luck in a new guise.

His fingers swiped at the rim of his glass as it sweated across the Dejarik board now marred with overlapping rings because he couldn’t bother with a coaster half the time. If Chewie was here, he’d be furious about that, but Chewie wasn’t here, so it didn’t matter what he would have thought.

“You caught me,” Han answered. A piss-poor excuse for a smile crossed his mouth, bad enough that Lando arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms. There was pain in his eyes, worry, fear, a plea that Han not do this, not today, he didn’t have it in him to do this right now. And still, Lando tried, was willing to risk hurt just to make sure Han was okay. It wasn’t so different from the days when Han found Lando spinning tales of a lucrative job he’d found, so good they’d be set for life, never mind that they never stood a chance of succeeding at it, not in this climate. “Have a drink?”

Though Lando laughed, disbelief caught in his throat, he nodded and slid into the booth, pressing himself against Han. There wasn’t another glass, so Han merely slopped more of the whiskey into his own and handed it off. Because Lando was stupid and sentimental, he placed his lips where Han’s had been a moment ago.

The last of the Corellian whiskey, the only thing Han was willing to take with him when he left that cursed planet for good. Nobody made whiskey on Corellia anymore. Now Corellia was little more than an industrial husk, even more lifeless than when Han was young, and entirely devoted to the manufacture of ships for the Empire’s war machine.

Corellian whiskey was growing almost as difficult to procure as Toniray and had developed the price tag to match. It was a collector’s item, feathers in the caps of the rich who snatched every last taste of home from the people who lived and grew up there.

Han had been saving it, but he couldn’t remember why.

Lando gave the glass back and placed his palm high on Han’s thigh. The weight and warmth of it was a comfort. Any other time, Han would have seen it as an invitation for something more, but they both knew that wasn’t what this was. Not today. But Han did cover Lando’s hand with his own, laced their fingers together, because this was the sort of day it actually was. That was better than the burn of the whiskey, better than just about anything else left in Han’s life.

It kept him together. He could only hope he did something of the same for Lando in return. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay,” Lando answered after considering it for a moment. “You okay?”

Han picked up the glass and waggled both eyebrows. He was a lot of things. Okay wasn’t one of them, but Lando knew that. It didn’t stop Han from smiling, lopsided, and saying, “Just fine,” in response. “Now that you’re here.”

“Now who’s the smooth talker?”

Han ducked his head and lifted Lando’s hand to his mouth, pressed a kiss to Lando’s knuckles. He missed the way Lando’s hands used to be softer, uncalloused, easy for Han to tease him about. Though they were kept immaculately clean even now—and Han had no idea how, the _Falcon_ bled oil and grime and Lando was as much in her guts these days as Han was—there was no going back to what they were. His skin now grew dry despite every intervention. Years’ worth of blemishes had turned to scars, a whole life writ in permanent discolorations. 

Han would take it all back if he could. As much as he loved Lando, he’d take all of it back. He’d sacrifice this to ensure the galaxy was a better place for all of them.

A part of him clutched at his sense of gratefulness that this was a choice Han would never have to make. It was an empty thought, a noble one, and one that would have been difficult to consider even despite everything. 

Han climbed to his feet. “I’ll show you smooth.”

He held out his hand. 

As had become more common over the years, Lando went along with his scheme. Another form of luck.


End file.
